


I Told You I Was Mean

by colonel_bastard



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bittersweet Ending, Blood, Desperation, Dimension Travel, Ex Sex, Existential Crisis, M/M, Oral Sex, Partner Betrayal, Rough Sex, Slap Slap Kiss, Tattoos, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 08:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5368850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Ford’s second unexpected reunion in as many days.  Funnily enough, his reaction to this one is the exact same as it was to the first.  He swings a punch directly at Rick’s face. </p><p>Stanley never saw it coming.  But Rick, Rick’s always on his guard, and he ducks the punch like an old pro.  He grabs Ford’s wrist as he goes, using the momentum to spin himself in so that his back slots against Ford’s chest and he can yank Ford’s arm down around his waist like they’re posing for a prom picture.</p><p>“H-hey there, Fordy,” he purrs.  “Did ya miss me?” </p><p>OR: the one where Rick and Ford had a fling in the nightmare dimension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Told You I Was Mean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juno/gifts).



> For my homie [Juno](http://junosunderland.tumblr.com/), who simply asked for "something fucked up with Rick and Ford." Of course I had to let the whole thing spiral completely out of control. 
> 
> I've tweaked the canon by inserting an extra day between _A Tale of Two Stans_ and _Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons._ I really wanted Rick to arrive while the shock of dimensional transition was still fresh. As for where this takes place in the RAM timeline— since GF takes place in 2012 and RAM takes place more or less in the present-day, I'd say this is around three years before the show, and definitely before Rick lives with the Smith family. 
> 
> Title taken from the deliciously wicked [Elle King song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scAC_414Y_0) of the same name.

-

-

-

Ford hasn’t slept in at least twenty-four hours. The reason for that is currently trapped within the confines of a transparent containment sphere, weaving about like a captive moth in a jar. It’s really quite beautiful. Ford feels sick every time he looks at it. 

What he needs is something to eat and about two days of rest. He locks the rift in a secure cabinet and takes the elevator up towards the Mystery Shack. Everyone knows that a divided house doesn’t apply to the kitchen or the bathrooms. That’s just common decency. He’ll grab something from the fridge and then put the basement on full lockdown so he can finally get some sleep. 

He’s just at the top of the stairs when he hears the confrontation from the other side of the vending machine. 

“Listen, pal—” Stanley’s voice, rising with anger. “—what part of _we’re closed_ do you not understand?” 

“Wh-who said I didn’t understand? I’m just not _listening_ to you.”

The second voice hits Ford like a taser to the back of the neck. He instinctively jerks forward, slamming the hidden door open with a bang— and there’s Rick Sanchez, hands in his pockets, delivering a critical kick to a fallen rack of postcards that hasn’t been righted since the shockwave. Stanley looks about ready to knock his lights out. Then Rick looks up, and when he sees Ford he takes his hands out of his pockets and displays himself, giving Ford that goddamn crooked, cocky smile.

“Hey-heyyyy, Fordy! Welcome back from the far side! I _knew_ that dimensional anomaly had to be you. You look— you look good. Rugged. It’s a goo-OOD look.” 

Stanley glares at Ford and jerks an accusatory thumb at the trespasser. “You know this guy?”

“Uh,” Ford says, so shocked that he momentarily forgets to be angry. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Yeah, you do,” Rick grins. “Listen, I-I-I gotta tell ya, Fordy, when you said cabin in the woods, I was picturing a little more, uh—a little more Abraham Lincoln and a little less Ri-eeugh-ipley’s Believe It Or Not.” 

“Oh, so you’re a wise guy, huh?” Stanley bristles. “Lemme show you a real special exhibit. It’s called _my foot up your ass_.” 

“Mmm, I love it when you talk dirty,” Rick leers. “I always had a thing for twins. Total shot in the dark here, but h-h-how drunk would you have to be before you’d let me—”

“ _Rick,_ ” Ford says sharply. “Let’s... take this downstairs.” 

Unfazed, Rick gives an amiable shrug and strolls over to the vending machine, following Ford’s gesture and going down the steps ahead of him. Ford takes a quick glance back and finds Stanley watching with clenched fists and a cocked head, every inch of him asking a silent question: _can I help?_ Ford frowns and shakes his head. Even if he was willing to accept Stanley’s offer, there’s nothing he could do. Ford has to deal with this monster on his own. He pulls the secret door shut and focuses all of his willpower on resisting the urge to shove Rick down the stairs in hopes of breaking his goddamn neck. 

\- - -

Ford is fairly certain that he’s calculated a somewhat reliable way to keep track of time in this dimension. Don’t ask him to explain it. Just trust him when he says that it’s been approximately twenty years since he was ripped through the portal, and approximately five months since he’s been alone. 

They’ve been climbing all day, hoping to establish a new camp on higher ground. By the time they reach the plateau they haven’t spoken a word to each other in hours. Ford is exhausted from the silence, from being forced to be alone with his thoughts all over again. Rick looks equally pensive, his brow furrowed as he trudges to the edge of the ridge and peers over the side. It’s a sheer cliff face; a straight drop down. 

“Perfect,” he mutters. 

“I think so, too,” Ford agrees. “Nothing can sneak up on us here.”

He shrugs out of his pack and starts up a quick system check on his laser rifle, testing the calibration to ensure that it’s still running at maximum efficiency. He hears the dull thud of Rick slinging his knapsack to the ground, but there’s no subsequent rustle of gear, not even the harmonizing hum of another system check. Ford glances up and sees that Rick is still staring out into the distance. On the jagged horizon, something huge and howling leaps up into view before arcing over and plunging back down into the void— this dimension’s idea of a breaching whale. Ford stopped being surprised by anything here a long time ago.

“You okay?” he asks, because Rick usually would have spoken by now, if not to complain about the long hike then at least to make another joke about how Ford almost got his brain sucked out of his ears yesterday. 

“Ehhhh,” Rick says. “Actually, now that you mention it, Fordy— nope.” He sighs. “Look, I’m— I’m gonna— I’m just gonna cut to the chase, here. I’m bored.”

Ford lowers his rifle, not entirely sure if he’s heard correctly. “You’re... what?”

“ _Bored,_ genius! Th-th-the bloom is off the rose! I mean, sure, it was great for a while, with all the, uh, we’re trapped in a nightmare dimension, we’re— we’re— we’re running from monsters, the whole deal, but a-a-at a certain point it sort of loses its charm, y’know?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“This sort of thing happens all the time, Fordy. It’s called _developing a tolerance_. It’s all fun and games when it’s a shock to the system, but then that system adapts, a-a-and the next thing you know you’re a— you’re a shaky sweaty mess, wondering how you ever used to get high off of ten bucks when now it takes at least a hundred before that smack even _begins_ to do you any good.” 

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Ford snaps. “You’re not having _fun?_ Newsflash, pal— this isn’t a game. We’re stuck here and we’re just gonna have to make the best of it.” 

“Yyyyeah, about that...”

Rick reaches down into his knapsack, rummages around for a bit, and comes up with something in his hands. It looks like a gun. 

“So, haha, remem—remember when I said my portal gun was destroyed? Uhhhhh, _psych!_ ” 

Cackling with laughter, Rick twirls the device on his finger and then blows over the end of it like a Western gunslinger. Ford feels cold all the way down to the pit of his stomach. He can hear the strain in his own voice as he struggles to stay calm. 

“Is that a way to get home?”

“Ugh,” Rick rolls his eyes. “See, I knew this would happen. This is a way to get _anywhere,_ and all _you_ can think about is running right back to the tedious, predictable confines of your own miserable reality. Weak, Fordy. I’m— uurp— I’m disappointed in you.” 

“Don’t fuck around with me, Rick.” Ford’s tone gets sharper, more urgent. “Is that a way to get home?” 

“I just said anywhere, didn’t I? That wasn’t hyperbole. I know that ‘home’ is a vague societal concept at best but even _that_ falls under the umbrella of fucking _anywhere._ ” 

There’s a high-pitched buzzing somewhere in the back of Ford’s skull. He feels dizzy, like he’s about to puke his guts out. All these months. All this time. And just when he thought he’d found someone he could...

“You piece of shit,” he pants, his hands shaking so badly that he almost drops his rifle. “I trusted you.”

“I know,” Rick grins. “That’s why the sex was so great.” 

Ford’s grip suddenly tightens. In the next instant he’s got the rifle up against his shoulder, the sights trained at Rick’s chest, right at his rotten core. 

“Why?” he hisses. 

“Why do you think?” Rick shrugs. “I was bored. Shit happens. We’ll always have Paris, or whatever. Hey, if you ever make it back, l-l-look me up.” 

Ford is seconds away from squeezing the trigger when Rick turns and bolts straight for the edge of the cliff. 

“Catch you on the flip side, Fordy!” he crows. “Rick _o-o-o-out!_ ”

Off he goes, launching himself out into oblivion, arcing up and plunging down just like the beast on the horizon. Ford makes it to the edge just in time to see the last bright flash of an interdimensional portal winking shut. 

And just like that, he’s alone again. 

\- - -

“So,” Rick says as they step out of the lift into the third level. “That was Stanley, huh? I see the resemblance in the face, but that _body_ , yeesh— the two of you are like Russell Crowe in Gladiator versus Russell Crowe in Robin Hood. You’re— you’re— you’re Gladiator, by the way. I’ve seen your abs. Seriously, though? How drunk do you think he’d have to be before he’d let me—” 

It’s Ford’s second unexpected reunion in as many days. Funnily enough, his reaction to this one is the exact same as it was to the first. He swings a punch directly at Rick’s face. 

Stanley never saw it coming. But Rick, Rick’s always on his guard, and he ducks the punch like an old pro. He grabs Ford’s wrist as he goes, using the momentum to spin himself in so that his back slots against Ford’s chest and he can yank Ford’s arm down around his waist like they’re posing for a prom picture.

“H-hey there, Fordy,” he purrs. “Did ya miss me?” 

Ford brings his other hand up to grab him by the neck. 

“Son of a bitch,” he snarls. “I spent _thirty years_ trying to get home from that hellhole, and the whole time you had the answer in your fucking backpack.”

“Duh, _hello,_ ” Rick wheezes. “Way to prove my point for me, dipstick. You’re cle-e-early not advanced enough to be exposed to such complex technology. Geez, have you never— haven’t you ever heard of the Prime Directive? Don’t tell me you never watched Star Trek, you fucking nerd.” 

It’s tempting to just squeeze his throat until Rick stops fighting— so tempting that Ford has to let him go before he gives in to the impulse. He shoves Rick away with all the force he can muster. 

“You should have _told_ me.” 

“Uhhhh, no?” Rick coughs and rubs at the six-fingered handprint now bruised around his neck. “And don’t play dumb. It went down exactly like I said it would. _Oh, I wanna go home! Oh, I miss my family! Oh, I miss my life!_ Which, y’know, I was— I was trying to get away from all that shit, Fordy. I didn’t want it harshing our groove.”

Ford shakes his head in dawning realization and disgust. 

“It was a vacation for you.” 

Rick scoffs and crosses his arms defensively.

“I mean, shit, when you— when you put it like that, you make it sound like— no, you know what? It _was_ a vacation. A fucking _sweet-ass_ vacation. Better than Tokyo Disney. D-definitely in my top five, and you should be flattered, because you were a big part of that.” 

“Fuck you, Rick,” Ford spits. 

“Heyyyy, come on,” Rick wheedles. “Don’t look at me like that. We both know I’m not the worst ex you ever had.” 

That one stings. Ford looks away, keenly aware of every secret he ever told this man, every fear he ever confessed as they held each other in the dark. 

“You both lied to me,” he says quietly. 

“Well _ma-a-aybe_ you need to address the fact that these are the sort of people you attract. I-I-It’s not my fault you’re a terrible judge of character.” 

“So what’s wrong with me?” God, Ford would really love it if he could stop feeling like he’s losing his mind for just _one second_. “What am I, some sort of magnet for— for sociopathic assholes?”

“Uh, y’know, as far as the other guy is concerned, technically _you_ summoned _him,_ sooo, that one’s on you, buddy.” 

“And you?” Ford snarls it like a challenge. “What attracted you? Why couldn’t you just leave me the fuck alone?” 

Rick saunters right towards him, pressing into his personal space, relentless. 

“‘‘Cause when I heard you’d been stranded for twenty years, I knew you’d be batshit _crazy_ in the sack.”

This time the punch connects, Ford’s fist slamming into Rick’s mouth with enough force to split his lip wide open, blood streaming down his chin as he lurches backwards. Rick swipes his wrist against his mouth and grins at the result, the cracks between his teeth filling with red. 

“I was right, too. You— you were fucking _desperate_ for it. After a dry spell like that I’m surprised you even bothered to get my name before you fffffucked me.” 

“Motherfucker,” Ford hisses, and he swings again, a powerhouse haymaker that hits Rick so hard it sends him staggering. He reels and catches himself on a deactivated control panel, gripping the edge and locking his elbows to keep from going down. He’s still laughing.

“Man, you were a great fuck, Fordy. T-top five. You just— you needed it so _bad._ Two decades is a long time to go without getting a little stra-a-ange.”

Ford grabs him and flips him so that the control panel is under his back, his hands fisted in the lapels of Rick’s lab coat, knuckles digging into his chest. 

“Goddamn you, Rick. You threw away ten years of my life.”

“Yeh-heh, after you threw away twenty.”

“Shut up,” Ford rasps, giving him a rough shake, like a terrier trying to snap a rat’s neck. Rick just holds on to his wrists like they’re the lap bar on a roller coaster. 

“Fa-ACE it, pal, I might’ve left you there, but you _got_ there on your own. That was all-ll-ll _you._ ”

Sick with anger, Ford yanks back his fist and shoots two quick jabs right into the center of Rick’s face, his nose cracking and bursting with blood while Rick arches his back and howls with ugly satisfaction. 

“That’s right, baby, take it out on me! Do it!”

So Ford hits him again, a left hook that sends an arc of blood and drool spraying across the dark surveillance monitors at Rick’s back. Rick doesn’t even try to defend himself, just hangs on to the edge of the control panel to brace himself against the beating. 

“Yeah!” he barks. “Come on! Harder!” 

Ford backhands him in the opposite direction, Rick’s head snapping from one side to the other, his eyes rolling around in his skull. 

“I trusted you,” Ford chokes out, his throat gone tight, like there’s a fist wrapped around it. “You son of a bitch. I trusted you.” 

“Are you talking to me?” Rick sneers. “Or the tr-triangle?”

“ _Goddamn it!_ ” Ford roars, and he yanks Rick up by the front of his shirt, fully intending to bash him into the bank of glass-screened monitors until his head splits open.

Then Rick grabs his face and kisses him, and without hesitation Ford kisses back like his life depends on it. 

It’s a mess, all blood and spit and gasps for air. Somehow Rick gets a hand up between them to snatch Ford’s glasses off and send them skittering away across the floor. Ford shoves forward, starving, claiming. He pins Rick down on the control panel with his body weight, one hand braced on the console, the other fisted in Rick’s wiry hair. It’s as close as he can get, but then Rick opens his legs and Ford falls right into him, chest to chest, groin to groin. Ford’s halfway hard already— he groans when he feels that Rick is way ahead of him, as usual. 

Rick tears his hands away from Ford’s face so he can wrestle out of his lab coat, his mouth never leaving Ford’s as he shakes off the garment and tosses it aside. He does have to break the kiss to take off his shirt, but that just gives Ford the time to get rid of his trench and utility belt. He keeps the sweater. Rick is down to his wife-beater and his bruises, the six-fingered handprint on his throat standing out like a red-hot brand. 

“C’mere,” he growls, as he drags Ford down to kiss him again. 

And it hurts, it hurts so much, because for the first time since he came through the portal, Ford is certain he’s awake. 

After thirty years of waiting, the strangest thing he could have ever seen was the portal actually opening up again. He stepped through it, but even now— up until about five minutes ago— Ford wouldn’t have been the slightest bit surprised if he ended up opening his eyes back on the other side, the whole thing having been an exceptionally elaborate hallucination. It had all the elements of a fever dream: the familiar setting, the familiar person, but everything slightly bent out of place. The children calling Stanley by the wrong name. The sense of artificiality that lingered over the house. Of course he hadn’t known _what_ to expect, but that very fact only made it worse. How could he ever know if any of this was real? 

_Rick_ is real, every messy, ugly detail perfect past the point of Ford’s flawed subconscious. No hallucination could ever bite with such vicious accuracy, no fever dream could ever recreate those filthy, hungry sounds that he fought so hard to forget. Ford’s hands slip right to the familiar places, yes, _familiar,_ Rick’s body responding to his touch the exact same way it did on the other side, unchanged, undeniable.

“Oh, God,” Ford moans, his face buried in the crook of Rick’s neck. “You’re here. That means I’m here. I’m _here._ ”

“Hey-heyyyy,” Rick chuckles, nipping Ford’s ear, sharp. “Welcome back, Fordy. Re-entry’s a _bi-i-i-itch_.”

As Ford shudders and reels, Rick pushes up from the console and deftly switches their positions, Ford now backed up against the control panel while Rick sinks to his knees on the floor before him. Shaking with sudden urgency, Ford fumbles at his belt buckle, his hands too jittery to make any progress until Rick shoos away his efforts and does it himself, yanking the belt in as tight as it can go so he can squeeze Ford all the way around the middle before he lets it go slack and pull free. Button, fly, and Ford is making the most pathetic noises, shrill and plaintive, every inch of him ablaze with want. Rick takes a moment to turn aside and hawk out a mouthful of bloody phlegm, then swipes his forearm against his mouth and chin to slick away the worst of the mess. He looks up at Ford and gives him that goddamn crooked, cocky smile. 

“R-r-reality check incoming.” 

Without further adieu, he shoves Ford’s pants and boxers down and gets his mouth on Ford’s cock so fast it doesn’t even have a chance to get cold. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” Ford barks, and he can feel Rick’s throat vibrating with laughter.

Rick handles him fast and fierce, lots of tongue and a fair amount of teeth, fuck, _just like he used to._ Ford lets his head tip back and his eyes slide closed, just like _he_ used to, back when Rick would make it all go away for a little while. Only Rick could ever do that for him— an oasis, the only one that Ford ever found on the other side of the portal. 

_Both_ sides of the portal, now. 

He didn’t even know how badly he needed this. Ford keeps his eyes screwed shut, giving himself over to the sheer physical sensation, willing the rest of his brain to shut down and be silent. Don’t think about the rift. Don’t think about Bill. Don’t think about thirty years— _thirty years_ —

“Son of a bitch,” he pants, his left hand tangled in Rick’s hair, his right clamped down on the edge of the control panel for balance. “Don’t stop. Keep— keep— _ah_ —”

He groans in dismay when Rick pulls off of his dick with a wet popping sound, switching to jerking Ford off so he can use his mouth to gloat instead. 

“Needy bastard,” he snickers, breathing hard from his efforts. “I guess it _has_ been ten years since you— you got lucky.” 

“You don’t know that,” Ford mutters, flushed with sudden, absurd embarrassment. 

“Puh-lease,” Rick rolls his eyes. “The odds of _you_ finding anything even remo-OTE-ly bangable in that dimension are— are— y’know, fundamentally nonexistent, and the odds of you finding someone since you got back are, quite frankly, _hilarious._ ” He snorts, his nose still oozing blood. “U-unless you fucked your brother.”

“ _Jesus,_ Rick.” 

“What? Y-y-you can be a real freak sometimes, Fordy. I don’t know where you draw the line.”

Ford’s voice goes ice cold. “I am _not_ a freak.” 

“Says the guy who got fucked by a triangle in a top hat.” 

Gunshot-quick Ford grabs Rick by the chin, twisting his neck to an angle that makes him stutter and wheeze. 

“Whoa-ho-ho,” he chokes out. “Fine, fine, _metaphorically_ fucked, whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

Ford makes a sound halfway between laughter and a snarl. “You think I sleep?” He digs his fingers into Rick’s jaw. “ _Nothing_ helps me sleep at night.” 

He keeps Rick pinned there, forcing him to take a nice, long look at his proof: the bags under his eyes, the eyes threaded all over with red. Ford can _feel_ how fucking shitty he looks, his face so heavy that he’s amazed it doesn’t slide right off the front of his skull. He hopes that Rick will at least have the decency to act sorry. There might even be a chance that Rick could unintentionally show a flicker of regret.

Instead Rick licks his lips, winks, and says, “I bet _I_ could help you sleep.” 

Ford doesn’t know whether he should be angry at himself for expecting any better, or angry at Rick for being so much worse. Fortunately both options follow the same course of action, which is to shove Rick backwards with all his might. Forced back from a kneeling position, Rick spills onto his ass, catching himself on his hands before he goes all the way over onto his back. Ford feels so exposed, so pathetic— he scrambles to tuck his cock into his boxers, struggling to ignore how every scrape of the fabric hits him like a cattle prod. Tricked again. God, he must be the biggest fucking tool in the multiverse. 

“Get out,” he says raggedly. 

Rick lounges shamelessly on the floor. “You’ll sleep for da-a-ays when I’m done with you, Fordy.” 

“I said get the _fuck_ out,” Ford snaps, feinting a charge towards Rick that makes him flinch back on instinct. 

“All right, geez, chillax, dog.” Rick clambers up to his feet and swipes a wrist absently at his bloody nose. “I’m just saying, you look like shit. You— you— you look like shit that somebody _shit_ out a-a-and then somebody _else_ — urp— _ate_ and shit out all over again. You look— you look like— th-th-the human version of a car that hasn’t had its oil changed since 2005.” 

And all that _really_ does is make Ford realize that he doesn’t know what year it actually _is_. He turns away to hide his panic, his heart going a hundred miles an hour in his chest. 

“I don’t care,” he rasps. “I want you to leave.”

“No, you don’t. You re—eugh—eally want me to stay.”

Ford whirls on him with a roar. 

“ _Don’t tell me what I’m supposed to think, goddamn it!_ ”

He expects Rick to flinch again, but the outburst barely seems to register on his radar.

“Well excu-u-u-use me.” Rick pinches his nose shut and tips his head forward, the rest of his body canted over so he can still keep an eye on Ford. “H-h-how about I just tell you what _I_ think, huh? I think you’re hanging by a fu-UCK-ing thread, Fordy. I think all you ever wanted was to get back home, and now you’re finally here, and it turns out none of it matters. I think you’re— you’re living in a _basement_ and questioning your own reality.” Rick gives him an upside-down grin. “And I think you need to get _la-a-aid,_ son.” 

And Ford can’t restrain his guffaw of ugly laughter, because he _is_ hanging by a fucking thread, he _is_ questioning his own reality, and holy fuck, he _does_ need to get laid. His dick’s still half-hard and wedged against his belly by the waistband of his boxers, and it gives a sluggish twitch at Rick’s suggestion, his balls swollen and aching. Ford pushes his thumb and forefinger up under his glasses to rub his exhausted eyes.

“Why the fuck did you even come here? I thought I was _boring_.” 

“You _were_ boring,” Rick agrees with a smirk. “Ever hear of a t-break? Ten years off the juice and I’m ready for a fix, baby. I-it’ll be like the first time all over again.”

Ford keeps rubbing at his eyes so he can hide the tears that boil up out of nowhere. _The first time—_ this _stranger_ appearing at his side, grabbing his arm with that wild-eyed look and gasping, _are you human?_ Ford clutching at him instinctively, gasping back _yes_ without hesitation, his whole body ringing like a bell. His name was Rick and he was stranded, too. All they had was each other. It was them against the void. Ford loved him. He really did.

“You’re a real son of a bitch, Rick,” he says hoarsely, his whole body humming like he’s standing at the rooftop ledge of a skyscraper. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Rick scoffs, straightening up and confirming that the nosebleed has stopped. “Now are you gonna sit down here alone in the dark with the science fair project from hell or— or— or are you gonna _fuck_ me.” 

Ford shakes his head, his resolve already crumbling. “I’m just giving you what you want.”

“Uh huh.” Rick spits a last mouthful of blood off to the side. “And I’m giving you what you need.” 

And even though his arm feels like it weighs a hundred tons, somehow Ford manages to raise a hand and beckon for him. 

“Come over here.”

Smiling lazily through the blood and the bruises, Rick saunters over in his own sweet time, cozying his way into Ford’s personal space until they’re face to face. Ford reaches out and takes him gently by the chin, his thumb ghosting over the clotted cut in Rick’s bottom lip. 

“You’re a mess,” he says, half-regretful, half-fond. 

Rick doesn’t say anything, just turns his head so that Ford’s thumb slips between his teeth, his jaw squeezing lightly, just enough to sting. Ford tugs his thumb free and pulls him in for a kiss instead. It’s not a fight like it was before. It’s worse. It’s _good_. Rick was right about the t-break. Ford feels like nothing so much as an addict falling back into the arms of that long-lost, long-missed high. 

“Let’s go,” Rick breathes, pressing something into Ford’s hand. “I’ve re-e-eally missed those fingers of yours.”

Ford looks down and blinks in amazement. “You brought _lube?_ ”

“Damn straight I brought lube. I came here to get fucked, Fordy. I— I knew you weren’t gonna make it easy on me.”

“God I hate you,” Ford says, and as he kisses him again he can feel Rick laughing against his mouth. 

They make their way back towards the deactivated portal, towards the generous scattering of rubble that fills the space with potential. Ford finds a heap with just the right amount of slope, and they layer it over with both of their coats and Rick’s blue shirt. Shameless, Rick shucks out of his pants and adds them to the stack. Ford doesn’t really want to get undressed yet. Rick doesn’t seem to mind.

Ford sits on the floor and leans back against the incline of their makeshift mat. Rick kneels, straddling his lap, his cock brushing against Ford’s belly as he leans over him, his hands braced on the rubble over Ford’s shoulders. Ford slides his arms around Rick’s back, his face nestled snugly against Rick’s collarbone. When Rick bows his head, his lips almost touch Ford’s ear. 

“C’mon,” he rasps, propping himself on one hand so he can thread the other into Ford’s hair. “Fordy, c’mon.” 

Over the small of Rick’s back, Ford fumbles the cap off the lube and squirts a dollop over his left hand, coating the fingertips. Bottle set aside, he uses his right to grab a handful of Rick’s ass and knead it with a sweet, slow rhythm like a heartbeat. Rick is already groaning in satisfaction when Ford presses his slicked up fingers against his asshole. 

“ _Fuuuuuuck_ ,” Rick hisses, his body jerking reflexively against Ford’s. “Y-yeah— _ngh_ — Fordy, tha-a-at’s it.”

Ford works him open nice and slow, one finger at a time, just like Rick showed him how to do all those years ago, when Ford was more nervous than he’d ever been with his college girlfriend. It hadn’t been the gender of his new partner that made him such a wreck, it was the _stakes_ — after all, if he’d disappointed his college girlfriend, he could always go out and look for another one. Rick was the first human he’d seen in twenty years. Ford couldn’t stand the thought of losing him for any reason. 

It’s crazy, but there was actually a time when Ford’s absolute worst fear was that Bill would somehow get his hands on Rick. Now he’d actually pay to see that happen— if he wasn’t so sure that Rick would enjoy it.

He’s certainly enjoying himself now. Rick shudders and moans, yanking on Ford’s hair like a rider setting spurs to his horse. 

“God, your fucking _fingers_ — _nnnnnn_ — c’mon, gimme— gimme another one— _fu-u-uck_ — yeah, Fordy, _yeah_ you still got it.”

Ford grazes his teeth against Rick’s throat and contemplates the jugular vein. He’d do it, too, if only he didn’t want to fuck him so badly. He presses a kiss there instead, Rick’s pulse hammering against his lips, wretched and familiar. Ford used to reach for him in the dark, fingertips pressed to that very same spot, the steady beat of reassurance that he wasn’t alone. 

“You bastard,” he mutters. “I thought I’d kill you if I ever saw you again.”

“Weh-hell,” Rick scratches his nails teasingly against Ford’s scalp. “If it’s any consolation, there’s probably a timeline where you did. Pro-OB-ably more than one.” 

Infinite timelines. Infinite possibilities. Rick used to tell him stories about the bottomless pit of the universe, the limitless horizons, how everything that could ever happen already had and how somewhere out there right now right at this moment there was a universe where they each had everything they ever wanted. At this exact second in this exact reality, Ford can only think of one thing that might satisfy him. 

“I’d trade it all for a timeline where I never met you.” 

He says it with the intention to hurt, but Rick only gives an unimpressed snort and flicks Ford in the side of the head. 

“Oh really? You’d trade it _all-ll-ll?_ What about— h-how about all the timelines where you— you never got your dumb ass sucked through that portal in the first place, huh? Or— or— or, y’know, maybe the ones where you didn’t summon a-a-a _triangle_ demon from a _chaos_ dimension to be your _life coach_.”

Another one of those ugly, angry laughs snarls its way up out of Ford’s throat again. Funny how Rick has that uncanny ability to remind him how things could always be worse. _You think being alone for twenty years is bad? Try finding some relief and **then** being alone **all over again.**_ There’s no such thing as rock bottom. It just keeps going.

“Ah, hell,” Ford growls, hooking his fingers so that Rick gasps and shakes. “Why stop there? How about a timeline where I never even came to this shithole town? How about the one where I got into West Coast Tech?”

“Tha-a-at’s the spirit,” Rick wheezes, both hands now braced on the rubble, his arms trembling from the strain. “Summa cum laude, babyyyyy.”

“Or the timeline where I went with Stanley. We were gonna be treasure hunters. Maybe we struck it rich.”

“Keep it— keep it coming. You’re never gonna run out of ways you could’ve had it better.”

But now Ford thinks of a possibility that he’s not even sure _is_ a possibility. He moves his free hand up to Rick’s chest, pushing him back so he can look him in the eyes. 

“Rick,” he says, helpless. “Do you think there’s a timeline where you took me with you?”

And Rick’s expression softens, his head tilted at an affectionate angle, his gaze too dark and unknown for Ford to ever read.

“Ah, Fordy,” he sighs. “There’s one where I never left.” 

Now _there’s_ one that never occurred to him. Ford can’t even begin to predict how that last decade might have gone with Rick by his side. It’s a coin spinning wildly in the air— heads it could have been the ride of a lifetime, tails it could have been a complete fucking disaster. There’s an insatiable, incorrigible curiosity in Ford that makes him wish he could find out what it was like. There’s also a fool-me-once, I’ve-been-burned-before side of him that’s glad he’ll never know. 

“So what?” he scoffs. “I thought we were talking about the timelines where I had it _better._ ”

Rick tosses his head back and crows with delight. 

“Ha- _haaa!_ Oh man, you got me there, Fordy. You— you got me real good.” He leans down to nuzzle at Ford’s ear. “So let’s just _fuck_ already, huh? I-I-I bet you’re about to jizz in your pants.” 

To be honest Ford is a little amazed that he hasn’t already. His whole body feels like it’s burning up, his bloodstream filled with boiling oil, his dick painfully hot and hard. It’s definitely been ten years. Still, like hell he’s going to give Rick the satisfaction of knowing that. 

“Oh, you think _I’m_ desperate?” he challenges.

He spreads his left fingers as wide as he can manage. Just as he’d hoped, Rick’s eyes roll back in his skull and his spine arches in a spasm, his next words coming out in a garbled shout. Ford smirks and gives his ass a resounding slap. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

After a little experimental rearranging, they end up with their coats spread out on the floor and Rick sprawled out on his back, one hand lazily tugging at his dick while the other beckons for Ford to come join him. 

“Take your pants off,” he says.

Ford does. He kneels down in the space between Rick’s open legs, his heart sledgehammering at his ribs, his palms slick with sweat. Rick makes an impatient gesture.

“S-s-sweater, too.”

This time Ford looks away, hesitant. Rick rolls his eyes and sits up so they’re face to face. 

“Whatever, I’ve seen it all before. Old news. C’mon.” 

He reaches down between them, not to grab the red hem like Ford thought but to wrap his clever fingers around Ford’s cock instead, stroking slowly, coaxing the resistance out of him. 

“I just gotta— I-I-I gotta have those Gladiator abs, Fordy. F-f-forget about the rest, okay, just— just show me the abs. C’mon. C’mo-o-on.” 

“Okay,” Ford says weakly. “Okay.”

He lets Rick pull the sweater up over his head, then crosses his arms reflexively to hide the awful, inescapable image of Bill Cipher tattooed across his chest. Thirty years ago, when he converted his home into a shrine to the deceiver, he converted his body, too. His chest and back depict his so-called muse against a field of arcane symbols, while his arms are banded up and down with runes and cryptograms, some of their meanings unknown even to him. The occasional faded scar crosses over the ink in places; Ford used to lie awake at night, scratching at the skin until it bled. Rick caught him doing it and told him he was a fucking idiot. Ford stopped scratching after that. 

“Yeah-heh-heeeeah,” Rick purrs, pressing his palms flat against Ford’s abdomen. “Ho-o-oly shit, you’re still so _ripped._ Maximus Decimus _Beefcake_ over here. What the— what— what’s your secret, old man?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Ford says cheerfully, then drops into a deadpan glare. “I’ve been fighting for my life in a nightmare dimension for the last ten years.” 

“Uhhh, well, in that case,” Rick smirks, tweaking a nipple. “ _Y-eugh-ou’re welcome._ ” 

Still glaring, Ford plants a hand on Rick’s chest and shoves him over onto his back again, then grabs up the bottle of lube that he left on the floor. Rick cants up his hips impatiently, which of course only makes Ford move slower, even though it’s killing him not to just jump on Rick and fuck his brains out. He wants to make Rick squirm at least a _little_ bit before he goes ahead and gives him exactly what he came here for. 

“You’re the wo-o-o-orst,” Rick whines, as Ford meticulously spreads an even coating over his dick. “Oh my God, you’re not— what are you even doing? It’s not rocket science, Fordy, it’s not even _regular_ science, it’s just— ugggggh, you’re _killing_ me here.” 

Ford makes a big fucking show of putting the cap back on the bottle before he sets it aside again. And before Rick can complain about anything else, before he even has a chance to speak, Ford pushes one of those skinny legs up so it’s knee-to-chest, then reaches down to guide himself all the way in with one quick, decisive thrust. 

The sound that comes out of Rick is like a car engine struggling to turn over, a low, stuttering groan that racks his whole scrawny frame even as he hooks both legs around Ford to pull him closer. Ford just folds down over him, his entire aching brain swallowed up by a haze of white noise, all the anger and the agony drowned out by a tidal wave. He barely has the sense to catch himself on his hands before they collide face-first. Then he just hangs there, too overwhelmed to move, their panting mouths only inches apart. Rick reaches up to clasp a hand around the back of Ford’s neck, tugging the hair at his nape. 

“Ohhhh-ho-ho, _yeah_ ,” he grins. “Feel good, Fordy?”

Ford’s voice is hoarse with unexpected emotion. “Feels good, Rick.”

Still smiling, Rick props himself up on one elbow and uses his grip on the back of Ford’s neck to steer him into a kiss. On instinct Ford shifts his weight on to one hand so the other is free to tangle into Rick’s hair, kissing him like he did ten years ago, back when he didn’t know that he held a time bomb in his arms. He’s only half-surprised when Rick finishes the kiss with a sudden, sharp bite. 

“Try not to blow your load too soon, Fordy. I-I-I know it’s been a while but, y’know, sh-show a little consideration here.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“No no no, _you’re_ gonna fuck _me_.”

“Shut up.” 

Rick delivers one last nip to Ford’s lower lip before he reclines back down to the floor and rocks his hips up to a tantalizing angle. Ford braces himself with a hand on either side of him, his fingers clenched in the coats underneath them, every atom in his body vibrating at a frequency beyond his control. He’s too far gone to stop now.

He starts with one shallow, tentative thrust. Then that same tidal wave roars up again, a blast of physical stimulation that consumes his grief and rage and leaves nothing in its place but blazing white heat. It hits harder than a triple-dose of k-lax and burns off in only a fraction of the time, leaving Ford gasping and frantic for more. He thrusts again and this time Rick arches up to meet him, and _God_ , it’s too much and still not enough, never enough, and Ford chases after it, his tempo accelerating until he’s pounding Rick into the floor. 

“Ohhhhh _shit,_ ” Rick hisses, his arms flung over Ford’s shoulders, hanging on for the ride. “Ah fuck— _fu-u-u-uck_ — ugggh Fordy— _yeah_ Fordy— give it— give it to me— _ungh_ —”

Ford gives him everything he’s got, all the pain, all the fury, the regret, the self-loathing— he’s driving it into Rick like a nail, and he’ll leave as much of it embedded in him as he can. He doesn’t want to think about it— he doesn’t want to _think_ — maybe if he fucks Rick hard enough then he can make the rest of this reality disappear. It always did the trick before. 

And for a little while, it actually works. It’s nothing but him and Rick and this haven they’ve made between them, a pocket dimension with a population of two. For a little while, everything else goes away. 

Then orgasm smashes into Ford like a bullet train, ripping right through his center and bursting out of him in a ragged, wordless cry, his body racked with agonizing spasms. 

“ _Yeah_ motherfucker _yeah yeah_ ,” Rick grunts, reaching down to jerk himself hard and fast, coasting on the shockwaves. “Oh fuck yeah baby _let it out_ let it _all-ll-ll_ out.” 

Ford feels like he comes for a million years, his brain spun out so far that it’s only a thread trailing out of his skull, his body imploding inside of his skin. He’s still going when Rick climaxes, splattering his release all over his chest and belly, his head thrown back in a howl. 

Rick keeps pumping until he’s wrung every last drop out of himself. Then he collapses in a boneless heap on the floor, utterly spent. Ford barely manages to pull out and shift to the side before he crashes too, landing next to him instead on top of him. They lie there wheezing on the bed of coats, drenched in sweat, overheated and overstimulated as reality settles back over them like a heavy, uncomfortable blanket. 

Ford looks over and groggily notices that Rick somehow managed to keep his wife-beater on through the whole thing. It’s all rucked up under his armpits, visibly darker in the damp places, the only scrap of clothing left between the two of them. 

_But that means_ —

Ford looks down at himself and sees that awful single eye staring back at him. Slapping one hand over the image, he uses the other to grope wildly about on the floor until his fist closes around a handful of red wool, yanking it towards him. He shifts up to a sitting position so he can hastily pull the sweater over his head. It clings to his sweaty skin, itchy and unpleasant, yet he instantly feels better when he has it on again. He feels— _better._

He turns and looks back at Rick lying on the floor.

“So,” he pants. “Still in the top five?”

“Fordy,” Rick chuckles. “You’re in the Hall of Fame.”

Ford smiles and turns his eyes forward again, where the smile slowly fades as he surveys the ruins of what should have been his greatest achievement. His mind is clear now. The portal will have to be destroyed. There was a harrowing temptation to try and salvage even just a fragment of his work— he worked _so hard_ — but the risk is too great. In the end, it was all for nothing. 

What a goddamn waste. 

Rick sits up beside him with a tremendous yawn, his arms stretched out overhead and his back arched like a cat. Then he drops his arms and cranks his torso from side to side until his spine produces a series of loud popping sounds. 

“ _Oooof_ ,” Rick grunts, though he seems pleased with the result. 

He glances around idly for his clothes, then remembers that he donated them to the coat pile. Exasperated by the inconvenience, he heaves a theatrical sigh and hauls himself up to his feet. 

“Up and at ‘em, Fordy. Pants. I gotta— urp— you’re sitting on my pants.” 

When he tries to rise, Ford discovers that gravity has spontaneously increased its hold on his body, his limbs dense and slow to respond. He reaches up blindly and is actually surprised when Rick grabs his hand and helps drag him to a standing position. He sways, unsteady, while Rick stoops and rummages around in the clothing heap on the floor. He tosses Ford his pants and Ford puts them on mechanically, without thinking.

“I need to sleep,” he mumbles. 

“I need to _shower._ ” Rick finds his pants and grimaces as he pulls them on. “Euuuuugh, that’s— yeah, i-i-it’s a mess back there. This was a mistake. Shoulda just portaled out au naturel but no-o-o-ope. Ah, fuck it. It’s done. I-I-I— I’m committed. Where’s my shirt?”

Rick gets into his blue shirt, the front of which is streaked with blood from his nose and mouth, which both pretty much look like they got punched a lot recently. Ford can see that one of his eyes is starting to swell shut, while the handprint around his neck has begun to fade from livid red to dark purple. He looks like an absolute fucking disaster. In other words, he looks like Ford feels. 

“You look like shit,” Ford says. 

“Thank yeeeew,” Rick preens, snapping the blood-splattered lapels of his lab coat. “And _you_ look all fucked out. Geez, Fordy, I-I-I hope you have somewhere to crash, ‘cause you are no-o-ot gonna last much longer.” 

There’s a cot in his secret study, but Ford would rather pass out on the concrete then let Rick know where that is. He has to be able to hold _something_ back from him. 

“I have a place,” he says. “Go take your shower.” 

Rick offers a cocky salute and then fishes in the inner pockets of his lab coat. When he produces the portal gun, Ford is amazed at the sudden surge of emotion that almost engulfs him. 

“God,” he shakes his head. “I don’t suppose you’d let me take a look at that thing, huh.”

Rick winks and spins it on the end of his finger. “Maybe next time, Fordy.”

So, probably never. 

“Ohhhhh man,” Rick’s eyes suddenly light up with inspiration. “Fordy, I-I-I— I should go up and do a— a— a walk of _shame_ past your brother. Ah, ha-ha, do you think— do you think he’d be pissed? You know I look _to-eugh-otally_ fucked. He’d— he’d— he’ll— oh man I gotta do it, ha-ha, I wanna see his _face_ —”

“I’ll be telling Stanley,” Ford says firmly. “That you left through the back door.” 

“Ohhhh yeah,” Rick flicks his tongue at him. “After you _came_ through it.” 

“Do you want me to punch you again?” 

“C-c-c’mon, that was great.”

It’s strange to be saying goodbye to Rick. Ford’s never done it before. He doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say or do at this point that might bring him some closure after Rick leaves again. He’s idealized this moment for so long— the moment that was denied him, the finality of a farewell— and now that it’s here he has absolutely no clue what to say. 

“It was good to see you, Rick,” he manages, and it’s true. 

Rick rubs the back of his neck and looks away. “Uhhhh, you too, Fordy.” He shrugs. “Glad you made it.” 

Ford thinks that might be true, too.

Rick fiddles with a few settings on his device. Then he points at an empty space and pulls the trigger and there, exploding into existence, is a genuine, bonafide interdimensional portal. Ford takes a reflexive step back from the glow, even as a part of him thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. _So effortless. My God, this man really is a genius._

“Look on the bright side, Fordy!” Rick laughs. “I-i-if you keep this up, it’ll only be five years till you get laid again!”

He’s still laughing as he strolls into the swirling green light, and a moment after he vanishes, the portal does, too. 

And just like that, Ford is alone again. 

There’s so much work to do. The interdimensional rift is contained for now, but there’s no guarantee that will last. The whole portal will have to be disassembled and scrapped. He still has no idea how to even talk to his brother. Miles to go, but first, he’ll sleep— he needs it, and finally, he’s ready for it. He has no doubt he’ll be out like a light the instant his head hits the pillow. Rick might have lied about a lot of things, but he wasn’t lying about that; Ford feels like he could sleep for days. 

In all his travels, in all his studies, Ford has encountered two entirely singular beings. 

One of them is, undeniably, inescapably, Bill Cipher. 

The other is Rick Sanchez, who, for just a little while, was the light of his fucking life. 

 

 

 

_______end.


End file.
